


Strictly Professional

by DeansDirtyLittleSecret



Series: Professor Dean Winchester AU [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Professor Dean Winchester, Reader-Insert, Smut, not canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:37:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4414136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeansDirtyLittleSecret/pseuds/DeansDirtyLittleSecret
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Winchester and the reader deal with the repercussions of Jo’s discovery.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strictly Professional

You stood in the archway between Dean’s kitchen and his living room, your hands twisting nervously in front of you, your eyes watching his every move. He was sitting on the couch, eyes closed, his elbow on his knee, pinching the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t said a word since you’d told him what Jo had done, just paced around his living room, fists clenched at his side, until he’d finally dropped to the couch with a dejected sigh. Now he was sitting there, brow furrowed, his freckles standing out in sharp contrast to his pale skin, looking like he might actually punch someone.

“What does she want?” he asked quietly.

“She didn’t say,” you replied. “It was...it was almost like she just wanted me to know that she knew about us, that it gave her some kind of satisfaction just knowing that she had this to hold over me.” You ran a hand through your hair and you could feel the tears you’d been fighting since leaving the student union threatening to fall again. “I’m sorry, Dean,” you murmured. “I never should have told her we were in the library, I...I...I screwed up...I’m so sorry…” You lost it, tears sliding down your face, sobbing.

Dean crossed the room in just a couple of strides and pulled you into his arms. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, his lips pressed to your ear. “This is all my fault. I never should have put you in a position where you had to...well, I just should have left you alone, waited or something. If I hadn’t been so selfish…”

“Is that what you want?” you muttered against his chest.

“Jesus Christ,” Dean grumbled. “No. I want this to all be easy and perfect. I want to be able to tell the world I love you, that we’re together. But it looks like this isn’t going to be easy or perfect.”

“So what are we going to do?” you asked.

“Lay low for a while,” he replied. “We don’t even know what she wants, if she even wants anything. We’ll just have to keep everything strictly professional until we figure all of this out. We can’t be alone together or do anything that looks even a little questionable.” He rubbed his hands up and down your arms, his forehead resting against yours. “I hate it, but we don’t have a choice right now.”

“Yeah, of course,” you said. Reluctantly, you pushed yourself away from Dean and grabbed your coat off of the back of the kitchen chair where you’d laid it when you came in. Might as well start now. You slipped it on, the stupid tears still leaking from your eyes. You brushed your hand over your face, though it didn’t seem to help. You dug through your pockets and yanked out your keys, unable to look at Dean because you knew that the tears would fall harder and you would collapse into a sobbing mess right there on his kitchen floor. Why did this have to happen just when you’d found out he loved you?

“Y/N?” Dean murmured. He took hold of your chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling your head up so you had no choice but to look at him. “This doesn’t change anything,” he said. “I still feel the same, nothing is going to change that.” He brushed his thumb over your cheek, wiping away a tear. “Come here.” He opened his arms and you stepped into them, resting your head against his chest. He pressed a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, his lips sliding down your jaw to your mouth, his tongue licking lightly at them. You opened your mouth, letting him in, savoring what would most likely be the last kiss you would share for awhile.

Dean’s hands slipped around your waist, hugging you tight against him. He pushed you backward until you were leaning against the refrigerator, your hands fisted in his shirt, the kiss deepening into something unbelievably needy, a last desperate push to have what was about to be snatched away from you.

When Dean finally pulled away, both of you were breathing heavily and flushed.

“I better go,” you muttered.

“Stay,” Dean said quietly, shaking his head. “Just a little longer.”

You nodded, pulling your jacket off and letting it fall to the floor. Something seemed to snap inside both of you and then you were stumbling across the tiny living room to the stairs, a trail of clothing behind you. By the time you were halfway up the short staircase, you were both naked. Moaning quietly in anticipation, Dean picked you up, your legs sliding around his waist. He carried you down the hallway like you weighed nothing, his biceps flexing, his abdominal muscles hard and taut under your exploring hands.

He laid you across his bed, his head dropping immediately to take your breast in his mouth, pulling the nipple between his teeth, biting it hard enough to make you gasp. You tangled your fingers in his hair, holding him to you. Using his knee, he pushed open your legs, settling his hips between them, pushing forward to press into you, his cock just brushing against your already aching pussy.

You took Dean’s head in your hands, pulling his mouth to yours. You wanted to kiss him, needed to kiss him before all of it was taken away. He returned the kiss, his own feelings evident in the way he was holding you and the quiet groans falling from his lips.

He slowly slid two fingers inside of you, carefully opening you up, pumping them gently, his tongue sliding in and out of your mouth in the same rhythm as his fingers. You moaned into his mouth, your hips coming off of the bed to meet his questing fingers, your knees falling open. He put his hand under your back, lifting you off of the bed, his fingers deep inside you, and the palm of his hand pressing against your clit. The sudden change in position was enough to make you come, hard.

Dean worked you through the orgasm. his mouth never leaving yours, his kisses constant, deep and sweet. Just as you started to come down, his cock pressed against you and he entered you in one swift movement, the sensation of being filled by him making you moan shamelessly. He rose up on his knees, his hands on your hips, pulling you toward him as he thrust into you. He started slow, moving at an almost languid pace, easing almost completely out of you before sliding gradually back into you, hitting that one spot perfectly every time, making you writhe and squirm beneath him as he pushed you toward another orgasm.

You were clutching the blankets on the bed so hard that you pulled them loose as you moved with Dean, the connection between the two of you driving you insane with pleasure. Harder and harder he slammed into you, until you were screaming his name, the orgasm taking you and consuming you. Dean held you tight against him as his body tensed, your walls clenching around him as he came. He rolled to his side, holding you in his arms, his cock softening inside you, his lips against your throat, his beard tickling your neck. You lay in his arms wishing the rest of the world would disappear and it could just be the two of you forever.

“I should really go,” you whispered after a few minutes.

“I know,” he sighed. He released you, yanking the blanket from the bed and handing it to you before pulling the sheet up over himself. He laid back against the pillows while you wrapped it around yourself.

You leaned over him, your hand near his head, and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. He cupped your face in his hand, caressing your cheek with his thumb, his brilliant green eyes staring into yours. He kissed your cheek one more time, smiled and whispered “I love you.”

“I love you, Professor Winchester,” you said as you turned and left.

Just before the door swung closed, you could have sworn you heard him say “I love it when you call me that.”

* * *

The weekend dragged by, your mood dreary and depressed to match the fall weather outside. You spent the rest of Saturday and all day Sunday cooped up in your room, organizing the research you’d done for Dean, working on homework, planning out lessons for classes and binge watching Sons of Anarchy. You exchanged a few text messages with Dean, but you both decided it might be best if those were limited as well.

You kept expecting a call or something from Jo, ready to make some ridiculous demand in exchange for her silence, but there was nothing. No call, no text, no email. You kept hoping that maybe Jo didn’t want anything, other than the satisfaction of knowing your fate and that of the man you loved were held firmly in her hands. You were on pins and needles the entire weekend. Not hearing from her was almost worse than her making some kind of demand.  

Monday was cold and crisp, typical for early October, cold enough that not only did you need a jacket, but you put on a pair of gloves and a hat as well. You were scheduled to teach two of Dean’s classes and you were dreading it. You weren’t sure how you could be in that classroom, that close to him, knowing that you had to keep your distance. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye when you came in, though he didn’t say anything. You tossed your things onto the chair behind the desk in the front of the room and set to work putting some notes on the board, your back to the professor. You itched to touch him, to kiss him, the fact that you couldn’t making it that much worse. After a few minutes he got up and went into his office, closing the door behind him. It hurt, though you knew it was for the best. The tension building in the room had been so thick it was nearly tangible. You wanted to cry.

Luckily, several of the freshman students from the class you were teaching next chose that moment to come in, demanding your attention. Keeping busy seemed to help and you were pleasantly surprised that you managed to get through both classes without a major meltdown. You thought maybe you might be able to survive this after all. That was until your class started.

Your first mistake was sitting in the front row, right in front of Dean. He was wearing jeans and a dark blue, wool blazer, a scarf casually thrown around his neck. You could just see the collar of a burgundy shirt beneath the jacket and scarf. His beard was shorter today, he must have trimmed it over the weekend. He was holding a cup of coffee in a to-go container, gesturing with it as he lectured. He looked exhausted, like he hadn’t gotten much sleep. Yet he still looked just as gorgeous as always.

He was so close you could smell him every time he walked past your seat, the scent of his aftershave drifting over you. You immediately regretted your choice of seats, but it was too late to move without making a scene. You sighed inwardly and forced yourself to focus on the book in front of you, because if you didn’t you’d probably launch yourself out of your seat and right into his arms.

You were so focused on the reading and taking notes on Dean’s lecture that you didn’t realize that class had ended until he cleared his throat. You looked up, startled to see that the classroom was nearly empty, except for a few stragglers dragging themselves out the door.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, shoving your stuff in your bag and standing up. “Is there anything else you need me to do?” Keep it professional.

“No, I don’t think so,” he replied. “You’ve got that research I need catalogued, right?” He stayed on the other side of the classroom, as far from you as he could possibly get without being in another room.

“Yeah,” you said. “I should be done with it in a couple of days. I don’t have much else to do.”

He nodded, staring at the floor for a few seconds. When he finally looked up, he had an almost pained expression on his face. “Um...Sam called me,” he said.

“Sam?” you questioned. “As in, Jo’s brother, Sam?” You looked behind you, but the classroom was empty and it was just you and the professor. You took a step back, widening the distance between you.

“He asked me to go out to dinner with him and his fiancee,” Dean replied. “And Jo.”

“What?” you gasped.

“He called me, told me Jo had asked him to. He said that she said I didn’t have a girlfriend anymore. Sam apologized profusely, told me he knows his sister is a bit obnoxious -”

“He has no idea,” you scoffed.

Dean smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I guess she suggested the dinner and the double date and when Sam reminded her that I had a girlfriend, she said ‘Oh, but he doesn’t. Just ask him.’ I think it’s pretty clear what she meant.”

“So...so...you’re just going to go?” you asked.

“I don’t think I have much choice,” Dean snapped. He stopped and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I’m just...I don’t know what to do here, Y/N. So, I agreed to go out to dinner - just dinner - hoping I can get some insight into what this girl wants and what I can do to fix this. And Sam and Cara will be there, so I won’t have to be alone with her. I know it’s not ideal, I know it’s not perfect, but I have no idea what else to do. My other choice is to go to the university president and beg him not to fire me because I’m having an affair with my student. Because I fell in love with my student. I can pray that he lets me keep my job teaching and that my reputation isn’t completely destroyed. There isn’t a damn thing about this that doesn’t suck.” He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck, staring at the floor.

“No, no you’re right,” you said. “Go out, see if you can figure some way out of this.” You grabbed your jacket and bag, turned and fled out the door, not waiting for a response. Nothing he said would make any of this better anyway. It was fucked anyway you looked at it.

You came bursting out of the building door so quickly that you startled several students sitting on the benches outside the door. You mumbled a half-hearted apology and took off across the commons at a rapid pace. You considered going back to the dorm, but you didn’t want to be alone in your room, surrounded by silence, your brain concocting all kinds of scenarios regarding Dean’s “date” with Jo, all of them ending with Jo’s hands all over your professor. You were already having to push the images away before they could settle permanently into your head. Instead, you headed for the student union, a giant cup of coffee and a lot of people around to hopefully keep your mind off of Dean’s dinner with Jo.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that Jo had chosen this tactic, that she was going to basically blackmail Professor Winchester into dating her. She’d always been jealous and self-absorbed, but you hadn’t realized the depths she could go to until now. Maybe her jealousy had colored her world in such deep shades of black, seeping into her soul and rotting her from the inside out, that she couldn't see or didn’t care about the pain and damage she could cause others with her choices. If she really thought she could force Dean into feeling anything for her whatsoever, she had truly fallen deep into the rabbit hole.

Of course, knowing Jo’s motivation didn’t change the fact that Dean was going out with her or the fact that you felt like your heart was being wrenched out of your chest. Everything was spinning out of control and you couldn’t see any way out.

You dropped into an empty seat in a secluded section of the union, far enough away from everyone to afford some privacy, but close enough that you wouldn’t be completely alone. You took a deep shuddering breath and fumbled to put the lid on your disposable cup, hot coffee sloshing over the side and onto your hand. You flinched, a quiet groan of despair leaving your lips. You laid your head on your arms resting on the table, tears sliding down your face and dripping onto the paper placemat beneath your hands. You swallowed the sobs you felt rising in your chest, taking shallow breaths to try to keep yourself under control.

Your brain was turning everything that had happened over and over, trying to make sense of it, make it better somehow. You wanted it to be a nightmare, a horrible, horrible nightmare that you would wake up from at any minute, sweating and panicked because of the feelings the dream had elicited.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t a nightmare. This was your life and you didn’t know what to do.

 


End file.
